


Eagle-eyed

by SpindlyBoah



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: AltMal, Character Study, Charcter Dynamic, M/M, Malik is not a spitting viper 24/7, maltair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpindlyBoah/pseuds/SpindlyBoah
Summary: A one-shot vignette between Altair and Malik. Hints of slash.They can fight a million-and-one times. Or Malik can have the brain, eyes, & ears to do something more exciting, like dissecting why Altair has been less of a douche lately.
Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	Eagle-eyed

**Author's Note:**

> This is a moment I wish had happened in the story, or something more emotionally powerful like it. Malik is too often portrayed as being almost literally blind with rage, this is done well sometimes, but I wanted to see what a more burned out Malik might do given how he's obviously portrayed as being intelligent in the main story.

Night had fallen over Jerusalem, and a low thrum of tension was palpable in the Order’s Jerusalem bureau.

Malik’s face was set hard in concentration as he gently guided his brush over an unfinished map. This kind of task, as menial as it was, was made irksome due to his missing arm. Further inflaming his irritation, his back had started hurting long ago from hunching over this particular copy for far too long now. He swipes the brush up, over, starts to paint one of the thinner corners of a back alley-

A heavy thud sounds from the roof entrance room and, predictably, the birds scatter.

Malik heaves out a long-suffering sigh so heavy it almost upends the map off the counter. Before it has a chance to escape, he slams his hand down on the map. And since it’s his _only_ hand, the brush in his hand dabs some of the ink onto the map. Luckily, it was only a corner. But, still. Malik only needed exactly one guess to figure out which idiot just caused that.

After a short pause, Malik hears belt clasps being undone and metal gently scraping the stone floor. Based on the volume of weapons, he would guess that this must be Altair.

He turns his attention back to the map. Only slightly blemished it seems. He picks up his brush and pauses. Nothing happens. He belatedly realizes he’s waiting for Altair to walk in and annoy him with some dull question or other. He finally decides to look over to the entrance room where Altair resides, and sees him rolling his shoulder with a mildly discomforted expression on his face.

He snaps his eyes back to the map when he realizes that he’s been staring. Malik feels his cheeks heat with a low simmer of embarrassment upon recognizing that he expected Altair to further annoy him, escalate things, be a nuisance. And that he was looking forward to cutting him down. Feeling like a child, and thoroughly irritated with himself, Malik silenced these thoughts by resuming his brushwork with a concentration that was most likely unnecessary.

Malik was so deeply focused that he only noticed Altair standing in front of the counter upon hearing an uncharacteristically soft “Malik?”

Setting his brush down, the map was almost done anyway, he straightened to level Altair with an unimpressed look, “novice?”

Altair’s brows furrowed at the slight. Yet, he cut Malik’s vindication short when he simply ignored it and asked, “do you have any information I can use on Majd Addin?”

A simple question. A straightforward request any rafiq could easily answer, or in lieu of usable information, point towards the opportunities to gather some. However, coming from Altair it was given an unnatural weight. The great Altair didn’t simply _ask_ for cooperation, nor did he ever think that the perspective of another was worth entertaining. Malik briefly wonders what Altair must have seen or heard to give him, _an arrogant ass_ , thought to pause.

_Say anything, damnit!_

“I have an informant east of the marketplace near here that you can consult in the morning,” he coolly supplies. Altair was not worth shirking his duties as a rafiq. But he also wasn’t going to have a lengthy conversation with the man. He buttons the statement with an overly saccharine, “oh, and try not to expose this one to the public with your usual _finesse_.”

Altair’s eyes narrow briefly at the obvious dismissal and his jaw visibly twitches. Malik can see the gears in his head turning, angrily deciding whether to pursue an argument or not. After a pause that’s beginning to turn awkward, Altair abruptly turns away back to the entrance room. Malik, perhaps inappropriately, feels disappointment at this development.

But he pauses in the doorway, looks over his shoulder and shoots back with more heat than before, “as a man who considers himself dutiful and loyal to the Order, do you hold so much contempt for me that you would let a madman like Majd Addin rage on for longer than necessary?”

For a moment, Malik is mildly surprised that Altair’s anger isn’t petty insults being spat his way. Instead, his question sounds almost genuine. Tainted only by the unmistakable current of anger underneath it, judging by the tense set of his shoulders. Once the words sunk in however, Malik’s chest constricted as he faced Altair more fully and said, “ _You?_ Of all people, would question my sense of duty?”

Some distant part of his brain notices that Altair has averted his eyes at Malik’s response, he’s not likely to engage further, the hint at guilt does not assuage Malik, however. Malik ruthlessly presses on anyway. “A goddamn novice could work with what I’ve decided to give you,” he all but spits at Altair. “Use this second chance you have been wrongly given and _try not to leave ruin in your wake this time_ ,” his voice takes on a slight shake at the end, unbidden.

Altair had been resolutely staring ahead, but his eyes find Malik’s again and, instead of being colored by anger, his eyes are just tired. He then turns away and continues into the entrance room, seemingly content to let Malik have the last word in their rather one-sided argument.

This fact deflates Malik’s chest and anger both. He stares at the empty doorway. The ensuing silence reminds him he’s staring at an empty doorway. He responds to this by impatiently turning back to his map. A heavy weight of _something_ falls on him as he blankly stares at the map. Unluckily for him, he realizes that it’s ringing a lot like disappointment, and maybe even embarrassment. What’s the fun in needling Altair if he doesn’t rise to the bait? And if Malik’s usual barbs can’t provoke Altair, does this mean he’s actually learned something in his fall from grace?

Frustrated, and eager to end this pathetic excuse of a day, Malik retreats into his room. He begins the arduous task of undressing. He then applies a salve meant to aid the end of his amputated arm and heaves another pained sigh at the fact that he’ll probably still wake up sweating and pained later. The anger seizes him in a vice-like grip for a moment. But he exhales again and casts his eyes about his room.

They fall on his bookshelf and a memory from long ago grips him.

**8 years ago…**

As Malik pauses from his reading, he looks up to see Altair seated across the room, unnaturally interested in maintaining his equipment. There’s an unspoken ritual between the two of them. They both relax in a private room like this without exchanging barbs or attempting to grandstand. Typically, this will only occur in a lull of their day-to-day duties. Today, Malik reads aloud the most culturally significant assassinations the Order has ever accomplished and the effects they had. All the while, Altair pretends to not be interested in the subject matter.

With something approaching showmanship Malik narrates while coolly side-eying Altair, “these events lead to an even stranger occurrence, wherein Cleopatra VII was slain by the assassin, Amunet. It is observed by many scholars that snake poison was used in the killing.”

Altair’s eyebrows quirk of their own accord, as poison is considered a coward’s weapon, while he cleans one of his leather vambraces. A smug grin grows on Malik’s face, but he lets the opportunity to tease Altair pass him by.

Moments like this are becoming rarer as a disturbing trend has begun to form in Altair lately. Less is he listening to the knowledge of the rafiqs and more experienced assassins, and more he is listening to the lecturing of Al Mualim. Malik surmises that this is likely Altair distancing himself from the other lower-ranking assassins because of his fallout with Abbas. But, in moments like this the more inquisitive and attractive Altair can be seen underneath the layers of his vanity.

With that thought in mind, perhaps Altair thinks himself great enough to end up in the book cradled in Malik’s hands.

**Present day…**

These thoughts stay on his mind as he falls asleep and chase him into the morning relentlessly. He sits up in bed and scrubs a hand across his face. Some, in his judgement, howling lonely part of his mind wishes that Altair would listen to him like that again. He wishes the respect would return, the companionship, the dynamic they once had. While Altair is wildly unpopular in the Order right now, former fanatics becoming jealously vicious, it’s not like Malik has a dozen allies either. What with losing his arm and being too young as a rafiq to have meaningful conversation with the other scholars.

An angry inferno razes his mind for a moment and then is gone again on an exhale. It would seem that Altair’s arrogance in Solomon’s temple set them both on similar paths, both isolated from spiritually benefitting from the Order.

_Self-pity is for lesser men_ , Malik scolds himself and hauls himself out of bed and begins to dress. He mentally braces himself to be annoyed when he walks into the main office of the bureau. The office is barren of arrogant idiots, so he assumes that Altair must be in the side entrance room still. Curiously, the sound of a page being turned is audible in the small space. Curiosity now piqued, Malik leans around the edge of the doorframe into the latticed room.

There sits Altair in a corner among the pillows. His hood down to reveal short brown hair, the sunlight reflecting off it makes his half-Christian heritage even more obvious than usual, the subject of much ridicule in his days as a novice. His face drawn as amber eyes scan the contents of one of Malik’s philosophical texts. He must see Malik in his peripherals, because he looks up suddenly. Embarrassment heats his face as moves to close the book, but then aborts the movement, realizing the idiocy of the action.

Malik feels a gloating smirk form on his face at the display. He can’t resist commenting, “I didn’t know you could read.” Altair’s face delightfully goes from uncomfortable to indignant in an instant. A mean-spirited chuckle escapes Malik as Altair, with an irritated huff, snaps the book shut, puts it aside, and starts reequipping his ungodly number of weapons.

_How does he always escape certain death carrying such a burden?_

_Because he’s much like an untamed beast,_ his mind unhelpfully supplies.

He forces himself back into the present at that unwelcome thought. “I am curious though, what knowledge were you trying to ascertain?” Malik’s curiosity makes him blurt the question out before Altair can retreat, presumably to go inflict himself onto the people of Jerusalem.

Altair is now standing and pauses in his preparation to look up at Malik with open skepticism. Now that Malik can fully see Altair’s countenance, he realizes how exhausted he looks in this moment. He’s paler than Malik remembers, there are slight purple blemishes under his eyes, and he seems to ever so slightly sag under Malik’s scrutiny.

Altair seems to judge Malik in return. His distrustful stare lingers until he finally says, “lately, I’ve witnessed strange things in my new,” his eyes flick away for a second as he bites out, “position.”

Malik inhales to say something snide when Altair cuts him off, “not from within the Order, Malik,” his eyes meet Malik’s again with renewed fervor. His voice turns more imploring as he continues, “but from men who were not as singularly driven to cause pain as it might look from the outset.”

At Malik’s silence he presses on, gesturing at the discarded book he says, “I was hoping that the wisdom of another might ease my mind. I consult Al Mualim, but I feel that he is…” his fervor dies down as he looks at Malik more uncertainly than before, “simplifying a much more complex matter. The dogma these men share is disturbing, and I feel as though the Order is blind to its magnitude.”

Malik regains his composure in the short silence that follows. The air between the two of them has somehow changed within the short exchange. Malik’s stomach sinks at the thought that Altair is one of his only lines of information as to the goings on of the upper-ranking assassins, due to Malik’s early retirement as a rafiq. So, there is at least a distinct _possibility_ that what Altair is saying is true. That the Order is oblivious to some danger. His informants can only gather so many little pieces on their own, and Altair’s uncertainty adds a large puzzle piece to a growing fear that something is… _off_. He attributed his misgivings to his anger at his current lot in life, but now, maybe his perceptions were closer to the truth than he thought. Bitterness swells within him, and for once it’s not directed at Altair.

“I suppose it isn’t too late for a novice to learn to broaden his horizons,” Altair’s eyes snap to him at the statement, evidently thinking Malik might not even respond or entertain his concerns. “What we do know for certain however, is the Majd Addin is a power-mad tyrant. As strange as affairs have been lately, this man’s need to be removed from the world is certain.”

Altair visibly struggles with the fact that Malik isn’t insulting him or dismissing his concerns. Like the moment could shatter like glass if he ruined it by saying something. He looks further intrigued when Malik says, “I have maps of the areas he frequents, and I can tell you the location of some of my informants who can provide further information to assist you.” He cocks his head at Altair as his tone easily turns teasing and says, “assuming you’re still pursuing scholarly endeavors like basic information gathering?”

Altair lets out an annoyed huff, looking down to unsuccessfully hide a small smirk. His eyes wander, seemingly unable to meet Malik’s for longer than a moment as he adjusts one of his leather gloves. Malik gleefully lets the moment drag out, but eventually Altair comes to some internal decision. He continues to recover his equipment as he cautiously says, “I suppose it would not hurt to add this kind of weapon to my arsenal, especially with how strange things have been lately… I’ll see to it that I seek out that informant you mentioned,” he trails off as he pulls up his hood and starts walking towards the roof entrance. Naturally, he’s not going to take the ladder up. Altair doesn’t _need_ ladders, Malik thinks snidely.

Malik feels off-kilter about this whole thing, and on reflex says, “in your hunt, do try to reason with your _brain_ for once and not your-“

“Blade, of course,” Altair grunts out as he lifts himself above the lattice. Comfortable with the distance between them, Altair turns to look down at Malik and confidently jabs, “try to be _less_ of a miserable bastard to be around when I get back.”

“Miserable bastard, eh?” Malik smiles dangerously and paces to turn to Altair fully, while Altair wears an undeserved smug grin. “If you’re a scholar now, then _think fast!_ ” he exclaims as he whip-fast throws one of his throwing knives at Altair’s shoulder.

Altair yelps in surprise as it grazes his shoulder, mostly tearing cloth instead of flesh. He looks at Malik in indignant shock for a moment, his surprise at Malik’s deadly aim not surprising Malik. Covering his shoulder, Altair swears and stomps away to the sound of Malik’s cackling.

After a moment, Malik composes himself. The reality of the situation hits him, did he just have a nigh-on friendly exchange with Altair? It appears he did. Although, he is down one throwing knife now… for all intents and purposes it was an acceptable loss.

He turns back into the main office of the bureau to continue menial work, unknowing of the small smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I've only written like 5 narratives in my entire life. (I was not stupid enough to put this at the top though, boom, got you, (unless you scrolled down preemptively).  
> 1) Malik's knife throwing skills are actually cannon.  
> 2) Yes, that was a dick joke.  
> 3) Yes, Malik made a god awful pun. Just don't test his aim.
> 
> I feel comfortable with this debut, this was nice. Please feel free to leave kudos, compliments, & criticisms.
> 
> Edit: Thank you to every person who left kudos, even if you don't leave a comment, it's endearing to know that a couple people got a kick out of this <3 <\--- (Heart of good luck, stay healthy)


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